


Three Monkeys

by morcabre



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender!Vetinari, M/M, Policeman!Vimes, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 05:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12358923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morcabre/pseuds/morcabre
Summary: Every Friday police captain Samuel Vimes goes to a small bar on Treacle Mine road.





	Three Monkeys

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Три Обезьяны](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357214) by [The_Passenger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Passenger/pseuds/The_Passenger). 



> Many thanks to [TriumphShouts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TriumphShouts/pseuds/TriumphShouts) for beta-reading this story

At nightfall a small bar opens on Treacle Mine road where no voices ever get raised. In a dimly-lit room, surrounded by clouds of cigarette smoke, dark figures whisper quietly to each other, glancing around from time to time. 

The bar is called Three Monkeys, and it is run by two people: a tall and thin bartender with neatly trimmed black beard and a young waiter wearing glasses and an always starched shirt. There are more rumours about these two than about the many romances of city's mayor. But the only thing anyone knows for sure are their names, and the fact that the bartender is never wrong with the drink and always knows what you need from just a glance at you.

They say that the waiter is stealing coasters, but he stubbornly denies it.

It was an ordinary summer night, and the bartender was slowly cleaning his stand, casting sideways glances at the visitors. The bar was not particularly full yet, but as the night grew closer, there were less and less vacant places. For now though, the waiter stood aside, his bored glance gliding over the tables. A few thugs in suits occupied a table out of the way, surrounded by smoke of not necessarily a legal kind. A puny clerk was relaxing with a beer in the corner and a young businessman sat on a stool at the counter, slowly sipping his whiskey without taking his eyes of the expensive case lying by his side.

Suddenly the air changed; Sam Vimes appeared in the doorway. He was a captain of Ankh-Morpork's police, scowling and unshaven, with an always present cigarette in his teeth. The thugs exchanged nervous glances and hastily extinguished their cigarettes. The businessman tensed and laid a hand on his case. But the cop didn't look at anyone and went straight to the counter, looking grimly at the bartender.

The bartender raised his piercing light-blue eyes to the newcomer.

"Good evening, Сaptain."

Vimes gritted his teeth and climbed onto a high stool.

"Don't call me that when I'm off duty, Vetinari."

***

Morning descended upon Ankh-Morpork with a soft mist, urging those who were still outside to go home.

Vetinari observed the almost empty bar with calm eyes, checking that everything was in order, and if anyone had forgotten their things. The waiter was getting everything ready to close the bar, throwing displeased glances at drunken Vimes half-lying on the counter.

Vetinari huffed, amused at catching one of those glances.

"Leave it, Drummknot," he said to the waiter. "I'll finish it myself."

"Are you sure, sir?"

The bartender nodded.

"Your working day ended two hours ago, so go home. I'll deal with the captain, it won't be the first time."

Drummknot looked at his boss with relief, took off his apron, adjusted his glasses and went to get his things. When he left, Vetinari cast an amused glance at the relaxed back of the captain peacefully snoring on the counter and went into the back room. 

He managed to sort through two shelves of various drinks, when there was a knock on room's door and almost sober Vimes entered. Vetinari gave a polite nod at his guest and resumed his work.

After five minutes of tense silence the captain couldn't take it anymore.

"Well, who is it?"

Vetinari let himself a pleased grin: Vimes hated waiting and he knew it all too well. He left the shelves and turned to the captain.

"The two at the third table from the right. They're expecting a heavy cargo of drugs tomorrow morning. I suppose it'll be a ship. By the way, have you noticed their rings?"

"Chrysoprase?" Vimes sounded surprised. "No, you can't be right. I know for sure that I got them all a year ago."

Vetinari gave him a cold look.

"I am certain of my information, Captain."

"Alright, alright, I'll check." Vimes rubbed his forehead and took out a cigarette. "And what about that young guy in black that got around here at midnight?"

"Leave him alone, he's just an apprentice." Vimes tried to say something, but Vetinari stopped him. "There's nothing there but ambition. But if it'll calm you down, I'll watch him."

The Captain frowned harder, but stayed silent. He took a drag of his cigarette, let out a ring of smoke and spoke again: "Have you heard anything of the Mentor?"

"He crossed the border yesterday, so he's in Klatch by now."

"Damn it, lost him again..." Vimes shook his head, annoyed.

"He'll be back," answered Vetinari with a calm voice. "He's too bold for an assasin, he won't stand more than half a year on the run."

They spent a few minutes in silence. Vimes smoked, thinking on something, Vetinari got back to work on the shelves, from time to time getting distracted by a tingling sensation of a sharp glance of the cop landing on his back.

Finally, Vimes put out the cigarette in the old clay ash tray.

"Think I should go."

Vetinari looked at the cop with an indifferent glance.

"You should stop abusing alcohol," he said.

"I'll deal with it without your input, thanks" Vimes snapped.

And he left, smashing the door behind him.

Vetinari looked at the watch: it was five to eight. Should've closed up long time ago.

***

The Organisation ruled the city. It was an underground network that controlled all the criminals in the city. The police were following their steps since they appeared, but everytime they was just a step behind. It wasn't that surprising considering that their staff consisted only of four people. People said that the only goal of law enforcement agencies in Ankh-Morpork was to pretend that everything was fine. Anyway, organized crime was far better than the unorganised drunkard Vimes guarding the law. They would all be better off with young Carrot Ironfoundersson as a captain. You really could trust him with your life, even if he was the mayor's son. 

But people said a lot of things. They said that the one leading the Organisation was called the Patrician. They said you could only see his face once - just before you died. They said that people got paid there, like in a civilized world and that they even got their own education programme.

They said a lot about Vetinari, too. But only the regulars of the bar did that. They said that he was raised by the Organisation as an assasin, but once upon a time he wanted to leave, so they just... let him go. Just like that. They said, too, that he was still connected to them and used as a messenger. Some people said that on the contrary, Vetinari was hiding from the Organisation and that he keeps a gun with a silencer under the counter for unwanted guests.

They say that Vimes is visiting the bar because he suspects something. But most people said that the drunkard just didn't care where to get drunk.

***

It was three in the morning when Vetinari heard huge crashing noice in the back room and rushed there. He opened the door and froze clutching the door jam. There was heavy pungent stink of alcohol mixed with blood in the air. Broken glass crunched under his feet and a pale Vimes was sitting on the floor in the corner, clutching his shoulder. His blue uniform shirt was turning dark red under Vetinari's glance.

"Your 'just an apprentice' has a gun with explosive bullets," said Vimes through his teeth, each word a struggle. "I have to admit, he knows how to use it."

Getting a handle on the situation, Vetinari forced himself to concentrate on the solution, not the problem and tried to still his trembling hands. He wasn't succesfull at that.

"You need to go to a hospital," he said sternly.

Vimes shook his head, dismissing the suggestion. The blood had been already dripping to the floor from his sleeve.

"It's too far. Just patch me up quiclky and give me something to drink."

The bartender sighed and reached his first-aid kit.

"Why does the officer of the police have to risk himself?" asked Vetinari not really hoping for an answer.

"Dammit, patch me up already, you son of a bitch!" snapped Vimes as his face turned from just being pale to sickly green.

Immediately Vetinari appeared next to him, ripping off his right sleeve and started applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

"How much blood have you lost?"

"I don't know," Vimes closed his eyes helplessly. His forehead was covered with droplets of sweat. "After I got shot, I ran two blocks, so it must be enough."

"Idiot," muttered Vetinari. "Aren't you tired of risking your neck?"

Vimes's eyes opened in surprise. He tried to raise himself, but strong hands made him lie down again.

"Lie down and don't move," said the bartender sternly. "What was the weapon?"

"Didn't take a good enough look," Vimes shut his eyes when Vetinari started to take out pieces of the bullet out of the wound. "But I'll figure it out from what you'll take out of me."

"What's his goal?"

"I don't know. The murders are chaotic, I don't see any link among them."

"Promise you'll start looking only after you'll let a specialist see this," Vetinari pointed at his bloodied shoulder.

Suddenly Vimes opened his eyes again and looked at the bartender. If Vetinari didn't know him so well, he would've said he could see trust in his glance.

"I've already done that," said Vimes with a serious voice.

They didn't talk anymore that day.

***

Gentle morning sun peeked through the windows, dispersing the gloom in the bar. Three Monkeys closed two hours ago and there were only two men left in the empty hall.

Captain Sam Vimes grimly sipped his whiskey right from the bottle feeling a bit uncomfortable under the piercing glance of his companion and rubbing his sore shoulder from time to time.

"We aren't handling it" he said finally. "All your information is useless, because he's just too fast for us."

"Then you need to expand your staff, Vimes."

The policeman took another generous swig from the bottle.

"And who do you think I should take? An aggressive runt? A sleepwalking paranoid dog trainer? Or maybe that bouncer from the Broken Guitar who's dumb and stubborn like a rock?"

"You can't rely just on Carrot," Verinari remarked reasonably.

"Well I'd deal without him if I could. Mayor's bastard - that's a gift for the police!"

The bartender smirked.

"You're lying."

"I'm lying," agreed Vimes.

"I'd think about the dog trainer, as well as all the others." Vetinari leaned on the counter and brought his hands together palm to palm, looking at the face he was familiar with down to the last wrinkle. "Give them a chance, Vimes."

"Ah, damn you, we'll try. It won't get any worse, anyway." The captain lit a cigarette and took a drag. "And why am I always agreeing with you?"

The bartender flashed a quick smile.

"Because in the end I'm always right."

"Tell me, how long have we known each other?" Vimes blew out a ring of smoke, feeling at ease.

"For about three years."

"And each Friday..."

"You get drunk in Three Monkeys." Only a very observant person would notice disapproval in Vetinari's voice.

Vimes was too observant.

"As I do in all the other bars in all the other days. Don't you agree, it would be strange, if a useless drunkard like Vimes would stay sober till morning."

"I'm glad you're so committed to keeping your cover."

"Why are you turning in your people?" Vimes suddenly changed the subject.

Vetinari shrugged.

"Because I like playing that game. Have you ever heard of chess?"

"Is it like tic-tac-toe, but harder?"

"Something like that."

Vimes leaned on the back of his chair and grinned.

"You are crazy. Just for that time when you dragged me to the back room, doused me with ice-cold water and told me all you had on the Mentor while holding a knife to my throat, I could've had you in jail for at least half a year. And you did it all with a perfectly straight face!"

"You were drunk and I needed you to pay attention."

"Told you, crazy. Now, tell me, Vetinari, is there something that can make you lose that calm?"

Vetinari's glance slid of Vimes's hand to his shoulder where there was a scar left from a bullet wound.

"I understand that curiousity is part of your profession," said Vetinari slowly, "but you should remember that it killed not just one cat."

"In my case it saved a lot of lives from a crazy killer with a flamethrower," Vimes hummed. "About that, is there any news on him?"

"Three days ago mister Lupine Wonse, a citizen of Ankh-Morpork, known to some people as the Supreme Grand Master, head of the Unique and Supreme Lodge of the Elucidated Brethren of the Ebon Night, was found in a kKlatch diner with his throat cut.

"Your men's doing?"

Vetinari didn't say anything, but he smiled like a man who knows exactly how justice's hand looks and how sharp the knife she's holding in it is.

***

"It wasn't the boy."

"I know that. Angua's dogs found his body in the sewer."

"So, you took her in after all?"

"Yes. I suppose I should thank you for that" The last words were evidently a struggle for Captain Samuel Vimes.

Vetinari checked the label of a big bottle with brown-gold liquid and put it in its place.

"No, you shouldn't," he answered simply.

Vimes started to smoke again, filling the little back room with smoke.

"Are you sure they're going after you?" he asked thoughtfully.

The bartender displayed his usual fleeting smile.

"Do you think I have no enemies?"

"But you do have some ideas who that might be?"

"I do. More than that, I know for sure."

"And?"

"And justice should prevail. By itself."

There was a heavy silence filled with sharply felt concern.

"Why are you doing that, Patrician?"

"And why is everybody so fond of that stupid nickname?"

"You haven't answered."

"I'll do anything for the good of this city," answered Vetinari, his voice haven't even changed.

Vimes's eyes were filled with doubt and helpless rage.

"You can just turn them all in at once and stop risking your neck!" he shouted desperately. "Why won't you do that?"

"Because once you get rid of those, others will appear. This way I can control them untill they don't overstep a line."

"And when they do?"

"We have a superstition: the guardian angel takes forever those who disappoint the Patrician," Vetinari's face stayed calm, but his voice sounded slightly amused.

"And they go to jail," Vimes nodded in understanding.

"You're learning fast, captain."

"Just don't risk too much, alright?"

"Who could've thought, Samuel Vimes expressing his concern over my life twice in the last hour" Vetinari's calm voice sounded on verge of mocking.

Vimes rolled his eyes.

"Oh, shut up, I'm begging you."

"Well, if you're begging..."

Their eyes met, and the air had filled with vibrating silence. Vimes looked away, and the tension disappeared leaving something unspoken behind.

It was noon, and Ankh-Morpork melted under burning city's sun.

***

In the depths of the Shades, a figure in a cloak with a deep hood slipped through the streets. Suddenly the door on one of the side streets opened and the figure dived into the doorway.

The figure took off the hood in the long dark hallway, and under the dim light of lone lamp he turned out to be the head of Ankh-Morpork's police. The shadows in the corner opposite him moved and a tall man in an expensive black suit stepped out. He stood against Vimes, leaning on his walking cane, and smiled.

"How's your leg, hurting?" asked Vimes.

"Not more so than it should. The main thing is, I still retain my position. Thanks to you."

"And thanks to you I caught one of the best assasins in Ankh-Morpork," Vimes smirked.

Suddenly sharp lines of Vimes's face softened, something new and almost gentle appeared for a moment in his eyes.

"I've never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad to see you alive, Patrician," he said with a soft, slightly hoarse voice.

Vetinari didn't answer immediately. For some time he kept silent and looked Vimes in the eyes.

"Kiss me" he said, finally.

The policeman's eyes opened wide and he lost his breath for a moment.

"What?"

"You heard me, Vimes," answered Vetinari simply and took a step toward him.

"Patrician..."

Vetinari put a finger on his lips.

"How long have you been dancing around it? Or should I wait till someone else shoots me, so you'll finally get it?"

"Get what?"

Vimes's warm ragged breath touched Vetinari's lips. The Patrician's long fingers were clenching the handle of the cane.

"Guess" Vetinari whispered a second before Vimes surrended to his insistent request, moved forward and kissed him.

***

"Really, why Three Monkeys?"

"There's this idea of detachment from evil in Agatean Empire: 'see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil'. It is usually depicted with three monkeys. It seemed somewhat amusing, considering my occupation.

"I always knew you had a lousy sense of humour."

"This from a man who calls a hound puppy."

"You should've seen them fooling around when we're not busy."

"I definitely will. Now sleep."


End file.
